A Thousand-Mile Exile, An Encounter with an Old Friend - Chapter 22

Sitting on the bed in the inner hall, staring at the sword hanging before the canopy, Zhu Qinghou simply couldn’t figure it out.

What on earth was wrong with Li Zhen? They were perfectly fine one moment, and then, for no reason at all, he started driving him away.

He was utterly bewildered, unable to find a single clue, eventually concluding that Li Zhen was just naturally temperamental. Regardless, he, Zhu Qinghou, was magnanimous; he wouldn’t stoop to bickering with someone like Li Zhen.

As he was thinking, Zhu Qinghou suddenly felt a wave of heat wash over him. It didn’t feel like warmth from the outside, but more like a flame igniting within his body.

He froze, looking down at his chest, and suddenly realized something.

Did the parasite actually have a “mating season”?

Zhu Qinghou was not the type to suffer in silence. He stood up and walked toward the hall doors. A dozen steps past this threshold lay Li Zhen’s private chambers.

He placed his hand on the door, intending to push it open—

It wouldn’t budge.

The hall doors were locked tight.

Zhu Qinghou: “…”

What is the meaning of locking me in here?

He let out a cold snort, having nothing left to say to a man like Li Zhen. He turned back toward the bed, determined to just sleep it off. To hell with the parasite; he couldn’t be bothered!

The moment he lay down, the heat intensified. Waves of warmth surged upward, making him feel as if he were trapped inside an incense burner. The relentless steam made his entire body go limp and soft.

Zhu Qinghou threw off his quilt, climbed out of bed in a huff, and marched back to the doors.

He pushed.

As before, they remained motionless.

Enduring the scorching heat, he slowly sat down against the edge of the door. Wrapped in his heavy cloak, he pulled his knees to his chest and curled up to sleep. Perhaps because he was now physically closer to Li Zhen, the heat in his body subsided slightly.

With his head tilted, he maintained this awkward posture on the soft rug. There was a gap behind his waist, and he felt uncomfortable.

He slowly crawled back up, his mind becoming a bit hazy. He tottered toward the bed, stopping before the hanging sword.

In the shadows, a secret guard watched the silhouette on the window screen, his heart tightening. The Prince had ordered that if the person inside did anything untoward, he was to be brought before him immediately. From the looks of it, was Zhu Qinghou about to take the sword and harm himself? They had to stop him.

Inside the hall.

Zhu Qinghou walked straight past the sword, grabbed his quilt and pillow, and returned to the floor by the door to lie down.

Secret Guard: “…”

At dawn the next morning, the hall doors slowly creaked open.

Zhu Qinghou was sound asleep when he felt the floor beside him sink. He opened his eyes groalily, his eyelashes trembling. Half-squinting, he turned his head, his long ink-black hair swaying across the floor.

Before he could see who it was, he called out instinctively, “…Xianpu?”

The daylight was piercing, making it hard for him to open his eyes. The newcomer stood against the light, leaning on a walking stick. He crouched down and gently lifted Zhu Qinghou’s head. A cold, clear voice, like ice, pierced his ears:

“Get up.”

The young man leaning against the door was clearly still half-asleep and exceptionally docile. He rested his head in the man’s palm, his body—wrapped in a mountain of quilts leaning in. He responded in a drowsy, muffled voice.

“Get up? I’m not getting up.”

Finding no other way to deal with him, the other man reached down, cupping him with both hands, and said softly, “Go sleep on the bed.”

Due to the parasite’s interference, Zhu Qinghou hadn’t slept well all night. Still dazed, he instinctively didn’t want to move. “…The bed? Not going.”

Before he could finish, he felt his body become light. The quilt draped over him was suddenly tucked tight, wrapping him up like a silkworm cocoon.

Zhu Qinghou was about to struggle, but smelling the faint, cold scent of snow on the man, he instinctively relaxed. He adjusted himself into a comfortable position in the man’s arms and tilted his head to go back to sleep.

Li Zhen lowered his eyes. The person in his arms felt much more real than yesterday. Through their clothes, the contact of skin, the temperature, and the breath were transmitted with perfect clarity.

Alive, and incredibly real.

He held the slumbering youth tightly. Following his memory, he walked steadily toward the bed. He reached out one hand, feeling for the soft curtains before carefully laying the person down.

The moment Zhu Qinghou hit the bed, he drifted off again, mumbling, “…Xianpu, it’s hot…” He reached out, trying to grab Li Zhen. He caught a corner of a sleeve, but it vanished instantly.

He felt nothing but air. His hand fell onto the bed, and he froze, finally waking up completely.

Zhu Qinghou opened his eyes and watched the tall figure leaning on a stick walk toward the exit. Remembering the torment of the previous night, his anger flared. “Li Zhen, get back here!”

The figure paused and stopped in place.

Zhu Qinghou climbed out of bed, draped in his quilt, and walked up to Li Zhen. “You…” Halfway through his sentence, he hesitated. “Can you actually?”

If he wasn’t mistaken, this parasite was meant to create a shared sensation. Li Zhen must have sensed it before he did last night and purposely locked him away to keep him at a distance. Li Zhen had been in Yongzhou for four years; surely he hadn’t developed some kind of… hidden ailment?

At this thought, Zhu Qinghou’s gaze slowly drifted downward. Before he could discern anything, the other man suddenly let out a cold laugh. “Do you think I don’t know how profligate you were in Yejing?”

The words were sharp and biting, unlike anything Li Zhen usually said.

Besides, since when was being “profligate” a bad thing? Who in the world wasn’t a bit romantic? Did he expect someone to stay devoted to a single person their entire life?

Zhu Qinghou didn’t want to argue over such trivialities and ruin his plans. He offered a casual reassurance: “That was the past. I’m different now.”

His tone was sincere. To an outsider, it would have seemed like he truly intended to repent.

The parasite in his chest twitched slightly. Li Zhen felt Zhu Qinghou’s true emotions—lazy, casual, and utterly indifferent. Where was the slightest hint of remorse? He was clearly just humoring him with empty words.

Li Zhen took a silent, deep breath. His face remained expressionless, his tone reaching an extreme of icy calm: “Move.”

It was a blatant display of resistance and disgust.

In all his years, Zhu Qinghou had never had anyone treat him this way. His patience snapped. He stepped back two paces, watched Li Zhen walk out of the hall, and added coolly: “Control that thing. Don’t let it bother people again.”

By “that thing,” he naturally meant the “Two Hearts as One” parasite.

Li Zhen said nothing. He didn’t linger for a second, walking straight out.

Zhu Qinghou had endured an entire night of discomfort, only to be snapped at by Li Zhen the moment he woke up. He felt the man was temperamental and bizarre. Infuriated, he threw a pillow at the Prince’s retreating back.

The pillow landed at Li Zhen’s feet. His pace faltered for a moment, but he did not stop.

By the time Li Zhen reached the outer hall, all traces of emotion had vanished from his face. He was as calm as a bottomless, ancient well.

Uncle Cui stole a cautious glance at his back, wanting to offer a word of comfort. He hesitated for a long time but ultimately remained silent.

“Have someone find some medicine,” Li Zhen said flatly, “to suppress the ‘Two Hearts as One.'”

Uncle Cui paused, then bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Was this thing meant to torment Zhu Qinghou, or was it meant to torment our Prince?

Uncle Cui warned carefully, “Your Highness, this medicine cannot be used frequently. If taken in excess, it may produce the opposite effect.”

Li Zhen didn’t care. He reached out, took the bottle, shook out three pills, and swallowed them dry.

Uncle Cui stared in shock, his heart full of worry. He couldn’t help but advise, “Your Highness, half a pill is usually enough…” Why use three for the first dose? Going forward, it would only become harder to control.

However, Li Zhen simply tucked the bottle into his sleeve, his face a mask of indifference.

Inside the bottle, the pills rattled, their movement casting a faint shadow. The shadows shifted and gradually cleared, revealing the bird-scaring bells hanging from the study eaves swaying under a stark white sky.

This was the first time since the reshuffling of Yongzhou’s power that the officials had gathered at the Prince’s manor to discuss governance. Even the seasoned veterans felt a bit nervous. As for the newcomers, they looked.

The older officials tilted their heads, surprised to find that the new arrivals didn’t look afraid. Instead, they looked miserable. Each one clutched a thick stack of scrolls, reading them over and over as if they expected to be quizzed at any moment.

Old Officials: “?” The Prince isn’t the type to quiz people, is he?

Compared to asking questions, the Prince seemed to prefer drilling troops and killing people.

Unable to solve the mystery, an elderly official couldn’t help but ask, “What are those?”

A new minor official gave a bitter laugh and whispered, “These are the Zhu…” He lowered his voice, not daring to speak Zhu Qinghou’s name aloud.

The single word “Zhu” was enough to spark a wealth of imagination.

The officials who had seen Zhu Qinghou at the manor banquet looked enlightened. “The Prince is so indulgent toward him; he truly has extraordinary means.”

“With those looks, calling him a… wouldn’t be an exaggeration.”

“Gentlemen, gossiping behind someone’s back is not the behavior of a nobleman.” The young man’s voice was clear and bright. At first, it sounded friendly, but a closer listen revealed a chilling undertone.

The crowd instinctively looked toward the source. Not far away, leaning against a pillar in the gallery, stood a young man in red with his arms crossed. A fine whip was coiled around his waist, and the iron bracers on his arms shimmered in the light.

This was—the “Little Vajra” of Sizhou? Why was he here?

Inside the study.

Zhu Qinghou was still pondering the matter of foreign trade. Since his last rejection by Li Zhen, he hadn’t bothered to speak to him, choosing to focus on his own thoughts.

Counting the days, it was time for Feng Chan to come and take his leave.

As he was feeling bored, the study doors opened, and a group of officials—young and old—walked in. Amidst the sea of plain robes, there was a striking flash of red.

It was Feng Chan!

Zhu Qinghou took one look and quickly averted his eyes, continuing to pretend they were strangers.

The officials knelt to pay their respects. The more nervous they felt, the more their minds wandered. Surely Zhu Qinghou had already met his end at the Prince’s hands? Strange, though—rumor had it Feng Chan was hot-tempered and hated evil. Why would he speak up for a man like Zhu Qinghou?

“Rise,” Li Zhen said coolly.

Everyone sighed in relief and slowly stood up. Suddenly, they looked up to see the “dead” Zhu Qinghou leaning lazily in an armchair. His posture was casual, and he wasn’t even looking at them.

Officials: “?!”

Shouldn’t he be dead? Why is he not only alive but looking as comfortable and relaxed as a pampered cat?

Zhu Qinghou had seen too many of these shocked, subtle looks lately. He didn’t bother looking back. He lifted his eyes slightly and gave Feng Chan an inconspicuous glance.

Feng Chan clasped his hands toward the Prince. “Your Highness, I have come to take my leave.”

Despite saying he was leaving, he didn’t move an inch. He even pulled over a stool and sat down, looking like he intended to stay for a while.

Li Zhen ignored him. Feng Chan didn’t care either, showing no self-awareness of being snubbed as he sat there in a bold, authoritative manner.

Perhaps because of the two “outsiders” present, the council meeting dragged on with a lot of talk but very little substance. Eventually, someone mentioned that they should find ways to increase revenue to cover the taxes stolen by corrupt officials. As the man spoke, he glanced at Zhu Qinghou, thinking the youth was truly shameless. Upon hearing this, Zhu Qinghou’s expression remained perfectly normal, showing not a hint of guilt.

Waiting for the man to finish, Zhu Qinghou spoke: “Yongzhou is a border region neighboring the two Wei states. Why not establish trade with them to promote the flow of silver and goods?”

Before he could finish, someone interrupted: “We are discussing matters of state! How can a”

Halfway through his sentence, the man felt the weight of the Prince’s icy gaze. Through the white silk, it felt as sharp as a physical blade. He stiffened and didn’t dare say another word.

Zhu Qinghou wasn’t the first to think of foreign trade. It was easy to say but hard to do. First, they had to petition the Emperor, then send people to scout the border, select a suitable location for a trade market, and then arrange for the government to oversee the transactions. Every step was a major headache.

Given the Prince’s obvious support for Zhu Qinghou, the officials hesitated, not immediately rejecting the idea. They remained silent in a form of wordless resistance. Even if the Prince wanted to support him, he likely wouldn’t have.

To their surprise, the new officials felt that trade was indeed a good thing for the people. More importantly, they desperately wanted Zhu Qinghou to be too busy with trade to remember the essays they were supposed to write. They began chattering and debating the idea enthusiastically.

The old officials trying to resist with silence: “…” Did Zhu Qinghou give you some kind of magic potion?

Even so, the issue of scouting the border was a dealbreaker. Once one stepped past Tong Pass, they were in Wei territory. They couldn’t take a large force and weapons without it being seen as a provocation, but traveling light was far too dangerous.

From the side, the silent Feng Chan spoke up: “I happen to have some free time. I plan to take a look beyond the border.”

By “take a look,” he naturally meant the latter option. Traveling with light cavalry would be fraught with danger.

Zhu Qinghou propped his chin on his hand and glanced at Feng Chan. Deep down, he didn’t think the man would die. While dangerous, Yongzhou wasn’t entirely without resources. Li Zhen paused, then asked Feng Chan: “What do you want?”

Feng Chan wasn’t from Yongzhou. Everyone braced themselves for an exorbitant demand.

Feng Chan smiled. “I wish to have a few words with him, alone.”

The “him” was, of course, Zhu Qinghou.

A moment later.

Feng Chan led his horse and rode toward the border with light cavalry.

Zhu Qinghou strolled back slowly. The purple silk ribbon tying his hair was gone, and his dark hair hung loose and messy as he returned to Li Zhen’s side.

The officials had dispersed, leaving behind a mountain of scrolls regarding the trade proposal. Li Zhen sat alone at the desk, the white silk over his eyes, looking as though he had been waiting for a long time.

Zhu Qinghou pulled out his chair and sat down, his mind still on the items he had asked Feng Chan to bring back from beyond the border. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a medicine bottle near Li Zhen’s hand.

Li Zhen’s voice was calm: “What did you ask him to bring back for you from beyond the border?”

Zhu Qinghou said nothing.

There was no need to ask; one thought was enough to know. It had to be the antidote for the parasite.

Li Zhen’s tone was light, tepid, and cold: “The day you saw him, the very first thing you said…” he whispered, “…was ‘save me,’ wasn’t it?”

The wind blew, and the medicine bottle rolled over with a clatter.

It was empty.

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